


Left to Wander the Drifting Roads

by ninaunn



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaunn/pseuds/ninaunn
Summary: The Maker was inscrutable, Cassandra knew, and His ways were often mistaken for cruelty for those whose faith was not stalwart.Cassandra shoved away the raw itch that struck at her heart; she had never claimed her judgement to be infallible. And there were higher stakes than her own peace of mind at risk tonight.





	Left to Wander the Drifting Roads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [D_elfie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_elfie/gifts).



The Maker was inscrutable, Cassandra knew, and His ways were often mistaken for cruelty for those whose faith was not stalwart. 

Still, cruelty was a hard word not to invoke when, on the heels of victory, fire shot through the night sky as the twisted roar of a shadowy army bounced over the valley. Had they not just sealed the Breach that bled horror from the sky? 

Or perhaps it had been arrogance to think that such a wound could be so easily healed. 

But the bells rang to proclaim warning, and Cullen ordered the Inquisition to arms, and Cassandra cast her questions aside. By the time she thought to say anything, Herald Adaar was already running to the gate.

A good quality in a leader, to seek the thick of trouble when it came calling. For all the qunari’s taciturn stoniness, Cassandra had glimpsed the compassion Adaar’s hardiness hid.

When the boy approached the gate, hands bloody and hat drooping over his gaunt face, Cassandra almost bade he be locked up and put aside whilst they dealt with whatever malice now charged down from the mountains. The Herald, instead, bade he speak.

Of course she did. 

Worse, Cassandra recognised the jagged, penetrating stare that Adaar cast over the ragged youth. It was the same one that had been set on her when Cassandra had still had the qunari warrior in chains. Unflinching and inscrutable.

Cassandra shoved away the raw itch that struck at her heart; she had never claimed her judgement to be infallible. And there were higher stakes than her own peace of mind at risk tonight.

As the boy, Cole, babbled on about an elder one and heretical templars, Cassandra felt her world slipping again. Like rain sliding over stained glass, the snow in the air and hushed panic behind her felt fractured from the oncoming doom. It had been the same at the Conclave, when Leliana and herself had realised that the Divine was missing. Her Right and Left Hands left aimless, battering uselessly at a gale. 

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” repeated Cole, harrowed expression fixed on the Herald before turning to point at a ridge-top.

There, even Cassandra’s biting tongue stilled at the looming figure just visible on the cliff-line. Tall, too twisted to be properly human, or even qunari, and a cold finger crept down her spine to consider what forsaken demon had come to end them.

The Herald made a noise akin to a snort, and Cassandra started to see that wide-jawed face unmoved.

“Cullen,” the Herald barked, “give me a plan.”

“Haven is no fortress,” the Commander began, eyes already turned to war. “If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force.”

Adaar shrugged her massive shoulders and cracked her neck as Cullen drew his sword and turned to the untested soldiers that had gathered about the gate. Already he was shouting them into order.

She admired him for that, but Cassandra’s knuckles hurt from holding her fists so tight, and her heart yearned to cut through those that had turned their hearts from the Maker. Patience had never been one of her virtues. She stepped to the Herald’s side.

“How shall we approach them?” 

The Herald raised a crooked brow at Cassandra’s question.

“Following my lead, Seeker?” Adaar asked dryly. Cassandra fought down a blush.

“Is that not what I have been doing this past half-year?” Even to her ears, it sounded defensive.

“Worry not, Seeker,” replied the Herald, the scars of her ash-grey skin pulling as she bared her teeth. “I’ll have you at my back.”

“Of course.”

But Adaar had already turned, whistling sharp as she spied her desired companions. The broad expanse of her grey shoulders shifted under leather and armour, and Cassandra pressed her teeth to her bottom lip. A distant tumult of threatening noise steadily grew midst the valley. 

“Master Tethras, Madam de Fer,” the Herald barked, “if you would be so kind?”

It was not a real question, and Cassandra did not expect either the dwarf or the mage to object. Varric, because he was a nosy parasite attracted to trouble, and the First Enchanter to gain what influence and favour was found in the comradery of battle.

All three of them fell into line behind the Herald as they raced to the closest trebuchet. Small flecks of snow glanced off Cassandra’s cheeks, and she wondered if she were any better. Herah Adaar had thrown off every expectation that had first made of her. Glimmered like diamond under dirt, and Cassandra knew that all she had ever done was demand that the Herald do, be more, fix more. 

And done more, she had. Defend the trebuchets, defend haven, save the people. 

Fight wave after wave of glitter-red abominations intent on consuming the night. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter, and the Herald did not falter. Face marked in fierce lines, her maul glittered through blood and fire as if blessed by the Maker’s touch. Blood and sweat and righteous anger fuelled Cassandra’s fury, singing at each war cry the Herald sung. 

It felt like a war. It felt like the night the most Holy Divine Justinia had died; just as hopeless and as heartless. 

And it felt just to fight by the Herald’s side. By the time the retreat to the Chantry had been sounded, Cassandra was lost to her cause.

Only once in that place of worship, dented and dirty, did Cassandra have time to breathe her devotion. Her shoulders and thighs ached from battle. Her eyes burned at the ruin of Haven and what it had stood for. 

“The Elder One doesn't care about the village,” stated Cole, propping up a grey-faced Chancellor Roderick. “He only wants the Herald.”

Outside the Chantry, a dragon roared. Under it’s shaking eaves, wounded soldiers and civilians alike trembled. 

She had been here before, Cassandra recalled. A moment in chaos where an impossible choice had to be made. In that moment, accused of treachery and beset by conspiracy on all sides, Cassandra had leapt onto the back of a dragon. That time felt so far away; the iron faith of her youth had fractured with age and doubt. Had not her flawed judgement led them here?

Only Adaar, that mountain of a warrior, seemed right, seemed steadfast midst the confusion. From the perfect hope that had sealed the Breach, to the despair of their enemy’s assault, Adaar had remained constant. She was a beacon to Cassandra’s conflicted heart. A focus for all the forces of the world. If the Maker walked among them at all in this desperate moment, surely His hand guided Adaar’s shoulder.

“How do I stop him?” The Herald asked of Cullen. The tips of her capped horns glinted in the candle-light that did not reach Adaar’s eyes. Her face was streaked with soot and sweat, and thick coils of her unruly hair had escaped their braids. 

Cullen’s reply seemed inconsequential; in her presence, all others felt muted. 

Cassandra lay a hand on her sheathed sword, and tried to quell the growing disquiet in her lungs. There was an answer to their prayers, a way out for the Inquisition. But the lump in her throat was hard to swallow; she knew how this conversation would end. When her gaze met Varric, she knew he understood it too.

“She must have shown me,” rasped the dying Chancellor. For all the pain that his expression spoke, Roderick’s eyes were clear. “Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

A dying man’s gasp and it indeed felt like a sign. Like the first time Solas had seized Adaar’s hand and thrown it to the sky. It had the taste of divine circumstance, and if it meant that something of the Inquisition might survive this night, then Cassandra was glad. Not content, though, for Adaar had stepped onto a path like destiny, and Cassandra was not ready to see the qunari cut down before her time.

Her hooded gaze flickered to where Adaar stood, still midst the moment that had arrived. Cassandra stood ready, already knew the choice that the Herald would make.

“Go,” Adaar ordered Cullen. “I'll distract them.”

“What of your escape?” The Commander’s brow furrowed, the grey in his golden curls a stark contrast to the naked confusion of his expression. A part of Cassandra’s heart grew cold at his naivety, even as it turned to regret. “Perhaps you will surprise it? Find a way?”

“Perhaps,” replied the Herald unflinchingly, ungentle and unafraid.

Already soldiers rushed to evacuate the wounded; the last bastion of the Inquisition, abandoned. A sick feeling of failure curled in Cassandra’s chest at that. How easily all she had sought to do to honour Divine Justinia had crumbled.

“Herald, if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this,” Chancellor Roderick coughed. “I pray for you.”

So be it, Cassandra thought, checking the buckles of her arms and armour. Not alone would the Herald stand on the field of battle. The Chancellor was not the only one who could call on the Maker for strength.

“If we are to have a chance,” called Cullen’s farewell, “let that thing hear you.”

Clusters of glitter-red abominations swarmed about Haven’s outskirts, inhuman shrieks rattling from their mutilated throats. The sky above seemed so cold and clear in its endlessness. They fought their way to the remaining trebuchet, mist billowing out at every breath.

The Herald stood straight, bellowing directions to Varric and Vivienne even as the first wave of enemies bleed into the clearing. Cassandra set her jaw and took her place at Adaar’s side. 

For all that she seemed needed; twisted templers fell before the qunari, like ocean-rage against the shore and it was all Cassandra could do to keep up. Atop Adaar’s maul, the roughly hewn skeletal mask grinned as crystal and bone shattered beneath it.

“Head in the game, Seeker,” admonished Varric, a crossbow bolt whisking past her ear to slam into the throat of a Templar hid behind her.

Cassandra scowled, but did not deign to reply. Anything she said would surely fuel the dwarf’s already inflated sense of self-importance. Instead, she spun to where the Herald battled a bulging abomination.

“Thank you, Varric,” came the dwarf’s distant grumbling through the battle-din, “Maybe I’ve misjudged you, Varric.”

With a mighty roar, Adaar threw the monster off herself. Her maul fell heavy as blood trickled down one arm. It staggered back a step, the dark place behind it’s helmet swivelling unnaturally to keep the qunari in it’s malicious focus. 

Teeth bare, Cassandra pushed her legs faster, biting through the ice-clogged dirt with armoured feet. Shield raised, Cassandra slammed into the horror, knocking it back even as it clawed again toward Adaar. The clash shook her ears, but already Cassandra had driven her sword into the muddy flesh of it’s exposed, putrid neck.

The erupting death rattle was not anywhere near human. 

At her feet, the corpse already crumbled to an ill-looking ash. The sharp tang of copper and lime lingering midst the wet snow, and a sick feeling rolled in Cassandra’s gut as she watched the blackened Templar armour turned dull and shapeless. Above them, the scar in the sky twisted unfeelingly.

Swallowing, Cassandra looked up to see the large warrior approach, Varric and Vivienne finishing off their own opponent.

“Herald,” Cassandra exclaimed, pulling her sword free and eyeing the open wound on Adaar’s shoulder, “are you hurt?”

“Nothing enough to keep me down, Seeker,” replied Adaar, hefting the battered maul to rest on her good shoulder. She jogged towards the loaded trebuchet.

“Do not be foolish,” Cassandra found herself scowling, storming after the qunari. “Let us tend to your wound now, lest it be joined by one more fatal.”

Her eyes turned a curious darker shade, and the Herald looked past Cassandra to the forest line. Small spots of glittering crimson approached in it’s depths.

“We do not have the time,” Adaar stated grimly.

Before Cassandra could voice her admonishments, Madame de Fer clucked her tongue and swept forward. Somewhere behind them Varric sniggered, and the Grand Enchanter shot the Herald a quelling stare, her hand alight with witchery. 

“Now, now,” chided Vivienne, headdress only the slightest bit ruffled from the fight. “There’s no point to dramatic proclamations unless you survive them, my dear.”

Cassandra looked away, already taking the trebuchet’s crank in hand to complete the Herald’s work. The muscles in her arms bunched with effort. Adaar still grumbled as the court mage tended to her wounds. A still quiet fell over the clearing, making the hair on Cassandra’s nape prickle. 

“Though all before me is shadow,” Cassandra whispered, the creak and clank of wood and metal hiding her unease, “yet shall the Maker be my guide.

The roar of the dragon answered her.

“Move!” Adaar bellowed as the dark shadow descended. “Now!”

Fire and brimstone reigned down, and Cassandra stumbled away midst the soot and steam. Something cracked, and she slammed into a fence-post. Slipping on melting ice as fire licked at her heels, Cassandra fell and tumbled down the ridge that faced the river. 

She had called it a strange kind of luck that had brought the Herald to the Inquisition. 

Stumbling through the ruin of Haven, the dwarf and mage in tow, Cassandra wondered if she had not been wrong. After all, the roar of a rotting dragon cut through the sky whilst an oncoming avalanche hungrily ate up what was left of the valley.

The mountain path was hard and treacherous, chased by hard wind and snow and the knowledge that the Herald had not followed them. Each step, Cassandra willed her heart impervious.

None of them spoke as they followed the trail of Haven’s refugees.

She was a fool. So caught up in the miracle of the Herald and her Mark, Cassandra had begun to forget how cruel and inscrutable the Maker’s trials. Or perhaps it had been arrogance, a punishment for thinking that one woman, and a non-believer at that, could enact His divine will.

It was too late to turn back. Adaar had told her that, the sun shining down on both of them as new recruits tested their newly forges blades. 

Frost numbed Cassandra’s extremities; the blizzard had grown in strength. Or perhaps it was the avalanche that bore down on them still? Madame de Fer stumbled, and Cassandra caught her arm before she fell back down the path. 

The Herald was gone. The Inquisition, vanquished by some ancient horror unseen in the waking for an age.

“I-I shall not,” the words broke flimsy in Cassandra’s chattering teeth, “be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.”

Adaar was gone. All that power and strength and quiet reserve. The careful way she cradled her weapon when not in battle. The inscrutable intensity of her attention. Cassandra knew what grief was, knew it had not hit her yet. All that was left of her drive was set to putting one foot in front of the other and dragging her companions along with her.

Her faith, well, Cassandra could not touch that yet, for fear of breaking it.

Herah, the Seeker thought to herself, her name was Herah.

The Maker was inscrutable, Cassandra knew, and His ways were often mistaken for cruelty for those whose faith was not stalwart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it :)
> 
> Been in a bit of a writing funk lately, and I found it really hard to figure out how I was going to write these two. It eventually turned into a bit of a pre-ship piece focusing on Cassandra's pov during the In Your Heart Shall Burn mission. I feel like Cassandra would have been feeling a lot at this point in the game, and it feels like that first point that she would begin to unpack her regard of the Herald.
> 
> Hopefuly D_elfie enjoys it, though I'm sorry it's probably not quite what you were wanting.


End file.
